


peony blossom

by andnowforyaya



Series: songbird [2]
Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Historical, Gender Issues, M/M, Powerlessness, Sex Work, Stalking, kisaengs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-10 21:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2040063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peonies stand for happiness or shame. Daehyun surrenders to both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The evening after Himchan leaves to return to the capital, Woo Jiho calls for him.

Daehyun had been expecting it. He had known the month of idyllic bliss with his patron would ultimately come to an end, tried telling himself he would be okay without Himchan’s constant attention, the careful way he spoke and the loving way he teased, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled, his lips on his skin that burned and soothed.

Himchan is everything to him. He is the reason Daehyun still has a roof over his head, clothes on his back, food in his belly, a _gayageum_ at his fingertips. Without Himchan, he knows he would be struggling, pitiful even, at the mercy of the state and unable to surface over the ocean of debt to his name. To his mother’s name.

There is a scroll the _haengsu_ keeps that belongs to Daehyun, a record of his accounts, that she reports to the _hojang_ officer of the region twice a month. It seems though time continues to pass, his balance will never reach zero.

He cannot leave before then, and even if he could, he doesn’t know where he would go.

Himchan certainly made the record jump, but now that he is gone -- with a promise to return before the month’s end -- it’s time for Daehyun to work.

Woo Jiho is not the only guest who requests his presence this evening; he has four parties to entertain. Hyosung told him that he’d be popular, especially now that his coming-of-age ceremony has long passed. Now that the men are able to look without social consequence. Some of the other _kisaengs_ are jealous, and it is lucky for Daehyun that Hyosung is not one of them.

It is rare for a _kisaeng_ to be a boy; there will be many who are curious about him. Some brave ones may even want to touch. “But you do not always have to end up in bed,” Hyosung advised. “You are a _kisaeng_. Not some peddler on the street.”

“What if,” Daehyun started nervously. They were sitting in his room, and Hyosung was seated behind him and brushing through the long strands of his hair, loose from its braid. It fanned around him, dark and heavy. She paused in her gentle strokes. “What if they are forceful?”

She sighed. “Then shout,” she said. “Take one of your pins and stick it where it will hurt.”

She was quiet after that. She braided up his hair and looped it in a pretty knot, and pinned it in place. She checked his make-up. She took the peony pin Himchan had bought for him from Seoul and placed it near the base of the knot, where Daehyun could reach it easily. “There,” she said. “Beautiful.”

.

Woo Jiho is a politician, and for that reason alone he is frightening. Government officials wield a power over _kisaengs_ that many often forget until a situation calls for it.

The tenacity with which he had bid for Daehyun at his coming-of-age ceremony still plays in Daehyun’s nightmares. He wasn’t supposed to be looking anyone in the eye at that time, but he could still see the barracuda-smile on Jiho’s face, his teeth that could gnash through Daehyun’s skin and bones.

Daehyun plays for him, for his guests that evening. Jiho and his government official friends are loud and boisterous over the graceful sounds of the _gayageum_. He can’t tell if they are being purposefully disrespectful or if they simply do not care.

Jiho watches him, though, and Daehyun thinks about the pins in his hair. The peony pin that Himchan gave him.

He thinks about blood. One of the strings on his _gayageum_ gives and snaps, and it slices red across his knuckles. He hisses and stops playing, and the room quiets.

Jiho crawls forward, takes out a handkerchief, and takes Daehyun’s shaking hand into his own. Presses the handkerchief over the cut. It’s small, but it stings. Daehyun’s heart is pounding.

“Does it hurt?” Jiho asks him, rubbing his thumb over the cloth. It makes his blood throb. He brushes his lips over the cloth, too, fingers tightening when Daehyun begins to slip away from him.

“Pardon me,” Daehyun whispers. “But I have to re-string my _gayageum_ before the next party arrives.”

Jiho frowns. “Stay,” he says. His friends chorus him. It feels like they are pressing in on all sides.

Daehyun wrenches his hand away and snaps his fingers at Junhong, who is kneeling just at the entrance of the room, white-knuckled and waiting. At the signal, he jumps up and opens the screen door, then rushes forward to take the instrument into his strong arms.

Daehyun stands, feeling dizzy, but manages to bow before saying, “Pardon me,” again in his best voice, and then he leaves.

He can hear Jiho’s company protesting, but Jiho himself silences them with a brutish order.

When they are far enough away, Junhong asks him, “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Daehyun says, walking briskly to his room, where he has stored extra strings in one of his dressers.

“You don’t like it when he touches you,” Junhong says next, his footsteps shadowing Daehyun’s.

At the threshold to his room, Junhong pauses. Daehyun slides open the screen door himself, and Junhong places the _gayageum_ over the line into his room. Junhong is not allowed in. He waits at the edge while Daehyun looks for his strings.

“No,” Daehyun says when he’s inside. “I don’t.”

.

In the morning when he wakes and opens his window there is a gift already sitting there on the sill, neatly wrapped in cloth and tied with a pretty green ribbon, a tiny scroll of paper nudged in the package. He opens it up, and a small silver comb with simple embellishments falls into his hand.

The paper reads:

_Songbird,_

_A gift for your wonderful music last night. The boys and I will be back._

_WJH_

Daehyun drops the paper, and then the comb. How did Jiho know which room was his? Unless Junhong retrieved the gift and left it instead. But the sun has barely risen, and Junhong does not arrive until past the hours for morning meal.

Perhaps he is thinking too hard on this. Perhaps Jiho had simply woken early and intercepted Hyosung at the market, or something equally mundane. He takes the gift and the note and walks over to his vanity, and shoves them both into the back corner of a drawer in the base, and gets ready for his day.

.

Youngjae is talkative in a way Himchan is not.

Daehyun has grown fond of his company. In the beginning, when Youngjae began coming to the _gyobang_ again, Youngjae had been shy without Yongguk and Himchan there to soften their interactions, but Daehyun liked how sweet he was, and favored him with chitchat and light flirting, doe eyes over the edge of his fan. Youngjae, easily flattered and just as appreciative of it, opened up. Daehyun found a curious boy underneath with endearing idiosyncrasies.

As they wander through the market, Youngjae points out innocent passer-by in the thronging crowd and makes up stories about them. Daehyun assumes they must be partly fictional stories, anyway; there’s no way Youngjae could know so much about the people in this city.

“That man was found sleeping with his wife’s sister, did you know? Rumor has it they worked it out and came up with an agreement. I hear he’s a lucky man.”

Daehyun titters behind the panels of his fan.

Youngjae pauses in his steps and turns, eyes bright and lips curved in a smile. “What?”

“Can’t you tell any stories that involve something other than infidelity?”

“But isn’t it exciting?” Youngjae asks him, tilting his head. He reaches for Daehyun and Daehyun blushes behind the fan. Youngjae adjusts a flowered pin for him in his hair. “After all, aren’t these stories love stories, anyway?”

“Love is exciting enough, all on its own,” Daehyun says. They begin to walk again, past the vendors selling jewels and pendants and more ornaments. Youngjae stops at one stall and waves Daehyun closer.

“Are you ever going to fall in love, Daehyunnie?” Youngjae asks him, not quite looking, holding up another pin beside his face, like he is comparing colors. “This one looks like the one Himchan-hyung got for you.”

“I don’t know,” Daehyun answers. “Do _kisaengs_ fall in love?”

Youngjae nods. He pays the owner of the stall for the pin, foregoes packaging, and slips it into Daehyun’s braid, next to Himchan’s ornament. “Yes. All the time.”

Daehyun sighs. “Then I suppose I must.”

Youngjae grins at him. “It’s not such a burden to bear, Daehyunnie. The pin looks good. It’s like your hair is blooming!”

Daehyun laughs, and allows Youngjae to take his arm on the stroll back to the _gyobang_.

.

Jiho returns on a busy night. Daehyun has already gone around to three parties, entertained guests with his music and his voice and the sway of his hips, when he enters the room with Jiho and his friends. He recognizes them now, by face if not by name. He has seen them in the market, too.

Junhong places his _gayageum_ at the head of the table, as is customary, but even before he begins to play, Jiho is asking him, “Did you like the gift I gave you?”

Junhong scampers away, but a nervous flicker of Daehyun’s eyes makes him leave the screen door a hair’s width open.

“Silver,” Daehyun says tightly, with a forced smile and his fingers positioned over his instrument. “Is that the best you can do?”

Jiho scoffs. “You want something nicer?”

“That’s not what I said, Master Woo,” Daehyun responds.

“But it’s what you implied.”

Daehyun acts demure -- lowered lashes and his bottom lip in a slight pout. “It’s a nice gift,” he says neutrally. He plucks. The note resonates, and Jiho sits back.

Another girl comes in to serve drinks. One of Jiho’s friends pinches her ankle when she pauses to pour him his drink, and Daehyun strums a note with particular force at the action. But the girl does nothing, and walks out.

He thinks that is the end of it.

He’s wrong.

Before he leaves, Jiho reaches into his _hanbok_ and withdraws another small package from its folds. In between, Daehyun can see the flash of a dagger in a hilt. It sends shivers down his spine. “For you, Daehyunnie,” Jiho says.

He must take it. He has to. Jiho is a client of the house, and an official of the city, and to displease him would mean bringing hardships not only onto himself but onto Hyosung, and his _haengsu_ , and the other _kisaengs_.

He does not want to take the gift, but he does. “Thank you, Master Woo.”

Jiho grabs his wrist before he can fully retract, turns it up in his hand and pushes back Daehyun’s sleeve. In front of all these men, exposing skin. Daehyun flushes bright red and gasps, but Jiho’s grip is strong. He leans down and places a kiss on the soft underside of his wrist, grinning when he lets go.

“I’m sure you’ll like it,” he whispers.

It is another comb in the shape of a lotus blossom. Daehyun loves it, but for that reason, can’t bring himself to look at it.

.

_My Dear Daehyunnie_ ,

_I cannot believe that another month has passed so quickly. I think on the month we spent together with longing. My memories of the sweet taste of your lips and my name on them are beginning to blur, and I cannot wait to be reunited with you to enhance and strengthen them again._

_Unfortunately, I am afraid there are many matters that still need my attention here in Seoul, and I will not be able to join you in Busan in the time I promised. Please do not be angry with me. I will be with you soon, and write again sooner._

_Your Himchan_

Daehyun reads the letter over and over in bed, tracing the words with his fingers and hearing them in Himchan’s voice in his head. He misses him. So, so much. His Himchan.

He kisses the signature and then feels foolish doing so, but there is no one to see him, anyway.

Junhong had delivered the letter earlier, smile so wide on his face Daehyun was afraid it would crack in two. He’d been excited for him, almost looking forward to reading it as much as Daehyun had. He should construct a response, and give it to Junhong to send on its way.

But what does he have to share? Would Himchan care to hear about how Daehyun’s been entertaining other guests? He supposes he can write about how much he misses him, but then imagines there isn’t a scroll long enough to contain that.

_My Dear Master Himchan_ , he writes, but scratches that out and throws away the paper. It looks so strange in black ink. _My Dear Himchan_ , feels far too intimate.

_Old Patron_ , he ends up writing, unable to help from snickering when he thinks about what will cross Himchan’s face upon opening the letter and finding this greeting. Himchan will appreciate it.

_Old Patron_ ,

_I’ve missed you for far too long. I’m waiting for you every day, just like I promised. Please come as soon as possible. There are other matters that you must attend to in Busan, as well._

_With love_ ,

_Your Daehyunnie_

He reads his response over multiple times, cringing with every reading, but it’s not going to get any better. He draws a peony blossom in ink at the corner, and waits for it to dry before rolling it up tightly and tying it with a red ribbon.

.

Youngjae visits again in the evening, this time alone. Hyosung brings him into one of the private rooms, and when Daehyun enters, Youngjae seems nervous. For that, Daehyun kisses his cheek before he sits down with his _haegeum_.

“Master Yoo,” Daehyun murmurs, drawing the bow across a string on the instrument. “Is everything alright?”

Youngjae starts and stops a few times before finally spitting out, “I heard from Yongguk-hyung that Himchan-hyung is delayed in returning.”

“He is,” Daehyun acknowledges, still tuning.

“I thought,” Youngjae starts, stammering. Blushing. Daehyun smiles at him, encouraging him to continue. “I thought you might like some company tonight.” He looks down after, like he cannot quite believe he just spoke those words.

“Oh,” Daehyun breathes. “That’s so sweet.”

Youngjae looks up, confused. “Is it?”

“In a way,” Daehyun says slowly. “It is sweet because I know you, Master Yoo.”

Youngjae exhales, but he still looks uncertain. It plucks at the strings of Daehyun’s heart. He misses Himchan so much, but he misses being touched, too. Touched in a way he believes Youngjae will touch him.

“Would you like to hear a song, first?” he asks, voice breathy and sweet, and when Youngjae nods, he begins to play.

.

Youngjae is sweet and attentive but certainly not Himchan. He brings Youngjae to the edge and back twice before finally showing mercy.

.

Junhong leaves after the last party of the evening. He helps the other servants clean, checks that Daehyun has everything he needs, and then goes back to his own home for some well-deserved rest.

Daehyun walks back to the _kisaeng_ quarters alone. They are a little separate from the party rooms, in their own block connected by a stone path. On the way to his room, he sees Hyeri’s door is slightly open, and whispers a _Good night, Hyeri-noona_ to the other _kisaeng_ , but just gets the door sliding shut quickly for his trouble.

He sighs. Hyosung said it would get better after a while. It was like this with the younger _kisaengs_. They’re always jealous of the popular ones.

He continues on to his room, and opens the door to find Jiho already inside, and it smells like alcohol.

He’s going to scream, can feel it building up in his throat, but Jiho was anticipating him, and moves quickly, standing and pushing Daehyun up against the wall and sliding his door shut, hand pressing hard against his mouth. Daehyun scrabbles at him, heart in his throat, fingers trying to scratch.

Jiho pins his wrists against the wall in an easy motion, but that leaves Daehyun free to speak, to scream. He opens his mouth.

Jiho kisses him, hard, and it stuns him enough into silence, because Daehyun is terrified. When the official pulls back, he hisses, “ _Don’t scream._ Don’t even think about it.” The threat lays unspoken.

Daehyun’s knees shake. The wall is holding him up. He whispers, not expecting any answer, “What are you doing? Are you crazy? How did you get in here?”

Jiho’s form seems to shift into something larger with the anger emanating from him, and suddenly he is the most threatening figure Daehyun has ever seen in his life, like he is being cornered by a rabid dog.

“Please get out,” Daehyun tries, louder, but Jiho crushes his wrists into a tighter grip in his hands.

“You invited him into your bed,” Jiho says, like he is trying to work something out in his head. “You invited him -- and others -- in your bed. But not me. Why not me? Do you not like the gifts I’ve given you?”

“Please get out,” Daehyun says again. His heart is beating so fast it feels like a hummingbird trapped in his chest.

“I’ve given you so many gifts,” Jiho says again.

“I didn’t want them,” Daehyun whispers desperately, and Jiho’s eyes finally snap up to meet his. He looks crazed. Maybe he really is rabid.

“But you took them, like you took the others’. What’s so different about me? You’re ungrateful.”

Daehyun can’t move. He should -- call for help. He should run. But his blood is frozen in his veins. Jiho makes him feel like a tiny butterfly banging around in a glass jar, slowly suffocating. “The others,” Daehyun gasps, feeling tears spring into his eyes but unable to stop. “They don’t treat me like--”

“Like what? Like you’re a whore of the state?” Jiho sneers.

Even through his terror, Daehyun feels anger bubble up inside of him. “I’m _not_ that. I’m not a--”

“What are you, then? Masquerading as a _kisaeng_. You’re certainly not a woman. Or did you forget?”

The anger bubbles over. He hates it. He hates this feeling. “Get out!” Daehyun screams. “Get out, get out, get out!”

It startles Jiho, but not for very long. Daehyun is hysterical, tears running down his face, loud and incensed.

“Stop it,” Jiho hisses. “Stop shouting!”

Jiho reaches for him, for his face, probably to cover his mouth, but Daehyun’s hands are fists beating him back, and Daehyun does not notice the moment that crazed anger returns.

“You _did_ forget!” Jiho accuses him, taking hold of his wrists again. He fights but Jiho is stronger. Jiho forces him to his knees and down, into the center of his room, until Daehyun sees the glistening point of a dagger by his face. The struggle is enough to unpin his hair, and it unravels from its knots and falls in a long braid to the floor. Jiho takes both of his wrists in one hand from behind and says, “Stop. Moving.”

So Daehyun stops, eyeing the edge of the blade, face wet and chest heaving. He closes his eyes and sobs, but Jiho does not care. “Please don’t,” Daehyun whispers.

“You forgot, so let me remind you.”

There’s pressure on his scalp, and then a tug and snap. He cries harder when he realizes what Jiho is doing, trying to hunch forward onto himself but Jiho tugs on what is left of his braid, and he is forced upright again.

It is torture. Eventually, the pressure is gone. Jiho lets go of his wrists, and Daehyun is sure he left bruises. Jiho stands, runs his fingers through Daehyun’s loose hair, and Daehyun shudders.

“You’re just a boy,” he says.

Something falls into Daehyun’s lap. He doesn’t dare open his eyes.

“Get out,” Daehyun whispers, one last time.

The screen door opens and shuts.

He is alone.

.


	2. Chapter 2

The _haengsu_ of the house cuts an imposing figure in the corridor -- straight-backed and elegant, her hair piled high on her head and adorned with ornaments. Her _hanbok_ flows behind her with every stride. Junhong, kneeling before Daehyun’s closed door, ducks his eyes when she approaches and slides the screen open for her.

“Sit up,” she orders. “Stop crying.”

Junhong slides the door shut most of the way, leaving a crack so that he can still see through. Hyosung stands and comes to kneel by the door, giving Junhong a wary glance as she does so, but she does not tell him to leave. From here, Junhong watches the _haengsu_ sit on a cushion, back facing Junhong, as Daehyun rearranges himself on the floor of his room.

His eyes are glassy, and large, and even as he sits stiff in front of the _haengsu_ , he sniffs. Junhong cannot keep back a gasp when he sees that Daehyun’s hair has been shorn at a length above his shoulders, even shorter than Junhong’s when it is not in a knot. Hyosung glares at him between the crack at the noise.

“What have you done to yourself?” the _haengsu_ asks sharply. Daehyun flinches.

“Sojin-unnie,” Hyosung says meekly from the corner. “He didn’t--”

“Quiet,” Sojin snaps.

Junhong hears Hyosung’s teeth clack together as she forces her mouth shut.

“Daehyunnie,” Sojin says, no gentler. “Explain.”

Daehyun looks as though he would rather be anywhere than cowering before his _haengsu_ in his room. He shrinks in his _hanbok_ , and looks at Hyosung, past Hyosung. “I,” he says, before falling silent again.

The line of Sojin’s shoulders soften. “Daehyunnie,” she says again, her voice smooth and low. “Tell me what happened.”

“Master Woo--”

“Do not use the name.”

Daehyun flinches again, hands wringing in his lap. He whispers, “There was a man in my room last night when I came back. He was angry. He said I--” Daehyun swallows, shuddering, before he continues. “--He was angry that I didn’t -- treat him the same way I treat the other guests. He had a dagger, _haengsu-nim_! He had a knife and then he--”

He pauses again, eyes so wide. Junhong cannot stop watching, so still outside of Daehyun’s room. Daehyun’s hands fly up to the ends of his hair, and Junhong watches him gather it into one fist, sweep it to one side. His face crumples, eyes filling with tears again. “ _Haengsu-nim,_ ” Daehyun pleads.

“ _Enough_ ,” Sojin says. “Enough. Sit up properly.” Daehyun does so, shocked into it. “We will say one of the servants did it. Small jealousies. I’ll have to turn one of the servants out--”

“But that isn’t--” Daehyun interrupts before silencing himself. Junhong cannot see, but he can feel the _haengsu’s_ glare even from behind, and Hyosung’s white knuckles in her lap tell him he’s not far off.

“One of the servants did it,” Sojin says. “You’re not crazy enough to do this to yourself. Or would you rather I turn _you_ out?”

Daehyun stares, lips parted. “N-no, _haengsu-nim_.”

“My friend is a dressmaker and she is looking for an apprentice. The servant I let go will take up with her. She will be taken care of.”

Daehyun continues to stare. Color rises up into his cheeks, but his mind seems to be blank. “What about -- Master--”

Sojin sighs, and Junhong watches the up-and-down motion of her shoulders. She says, “You think this is the first time something like this has happened to one of my girls? This Master is a guest of the house. And a government official. He will continue to be a guest here, and we will continue to entertain him.”

“However,” she adds, when it looks like Daehyun’s about to burst into tears. “ _You_ will not see him again; and neither he, you. You have three days to yourself to reflect on what has happened.”

Daehyun bursts into tears anyway, still sitting upright, letting the wetness roll and drip from his face. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Junhong’s heart swells for him, too big in his chest. In a rare display of affection, Sojin moves forward and cradles Daehyun’s head to her bosom for a tiny moment before sitting him up again, hands on his shoulders. “I take care of my girls, Daehyunnie,” Sojin says.

“I’m not a--”

Sojin shakes her head. “You are in _my_ house, under _my_ protection. So you are one of my girls, understand?”

Daehyun nods.

Sojin stands and turns, and to Junhong she seems regal in her stance. He slides the door open quickly for her, and she passes through. “Stay with him for the next few days,” she tells Junhong under her breath. “If there’s anything strange going on, tell me immediately.”

“Of course,” Junhong says, bowing slightly as she continues down the corridor.

He watches Hyosung tend to Daehyun, wiping at his face and smoothing fingers through his hair. Daehyun buries his face into Hyosung’s chest, and his shoulders start to shake. Out of respect, Junhong shuts the door.

.

 

**Author's Note:**

> it gets worse before it gets better, right?
> 
> [writing](http://andnowforyaya.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/andnowforyaya)


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